


Dreams

by timeywimeyshenanigans



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sort of - Fandom, The Hobbit (2012), Well - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, I Don't Even Know, I kind of just got addicted to Smauglock and then this happened, M/M, One-Shot, anyway, schmoop?, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeywimeyshenanigans/pseuds/timeywimeyshenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biblo faces the great dragon, who, for some reason, is incredibly familiar</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T KNOW WHY I WROTE THIS NOR DO I KNOW WHY I'M POSTING THIS. Maybe someone will enjoy it? I don't know. Anyway, have some semi-crossover drabble.

Bilbo faced the large looming dragon, Smaug, and swallowed down the fear that had seized him. He waited for the beast to speak first, and when nothing came, he started with an 'Um, hello."  
The dragon looked down at this creature, and Bilbo could have sworn it was almost smiling. "Well, hello there, hobbit. I've been expecting you to come. What exactly is it that you want? I do hope you haven't come for the gold."  
Bilbo stopped in his tracks upon hearing the dragon's voice. He didn't know why, but it sounded incredibly familiar. Like that of a friend, almost. Something was stirring in his subconscious, but he couldn't place it, a distant memory long forgotten, too faded to reach.  
"Well, umm.." Bilbo found that words wouldn't come out quite properly, and there was some part of him that desperately wanted to...trust Smaug, in a sense.  
"Yes?" Smaug gave the hobbit a bored look, which just made him seem all that more familiar.  
Bilbo could no longer think, the memories were flying back to him, bits and pieces, nothing clear, nothing possible. He had never been human, nor had the beast before him. He was too confused, where were these images coming from, why were they inside his head? "I honestly don't know. Umm, perhaps..."  
"So, not the gold then. Spit it out, John, Bilbo, whatever, I haven't got all day." Smaug then gave him an impatient look, then looked around to see if any one was coming, but it seemed that no one was. If a dragon could sigh, that was exactly what he did, and Bilbo half expected him to say 'Bored' or 'Dull'. Wait, what had the dragon called him? John? That name, why was it so...so, becoming? He certainly didn't know anyone by the name of John and it didn't even particularly fit a hobbit anyway..  
"What I want? Yes, well..." Bilbo paused for thought slightly, searching for the right answer, then continued with "I want to remember."  
"Really? Are you certain? You must be absolutely positive John. Because those memories, the one's that are currently locked inside your mind, I can expose them, but be warned, they are, in a sense poisonous. I'd hate to have you do something not of your own volition." Smaug then lowered his head to face Bilbo at eye level, scanning him with those eyes that seemed to know everything.  
"Yes, God yes, Sherlock." Sherlock? Where did that come from? Why did it fit the dragon in front of him? This was all so confusing, enough that Bilbo was starting to wish he was back at his hobbit hole, having never started this whole ordeal. And yet, he felt he needed the adventure, craved it, even.  
"All right. But the identity you've built up here, the shire, all of it. It won't remain. You'll go back to being the person, the human, even, that you used to be. Now, is that what you want?" Smaug looked at him earnestly, scanning, and almost, it seemed, hopeful.  
For the first time since he had gone into this cave, hell, since he had started this adventure, Bilbo felt no fear. "Yes. Please.”  
"Then I shall grant what you want."  
Smaug then blew out a huge plume of flame, and Bilbo instinctively raised his arms, but felt no heat, no pain. All that happened was he began to hear a beeping sound, and when he reopened his eyes, he found his old bedroom, with an alarm clock going off.  
Right. He was John Watson, M.D. Not a hobbit, not living in the Shire, but human, living in London. Not only that, but his best friend was not a dragon, but very human, and very dead. He sighed, this was probably the first night without nightmares, the first night John had actually slept through peacefully  
 _It was nice while it lasted_ , he thought to himself, and then was brought out of thinking about it by a knock at the door. He had no idea who would be here, particularly at 6 am, but he went to answer it anyway. He opened the door, stared for a bit, and slammed it shut once again. He then paused, rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes, and opened it once more.  
Nope, still there.  
It was Sherlock, standing there, right in front of him, human, and in the flesh, looking, actually, scared. That was a rare look on his friend. John didn't believe it, refused to believe it. He should have known, the trade for a good night sleep would be hallucinations while he was awake.  
His friend then spoke up, saying "You're awake."  
John was surprised at this, and then responded, "I honestly don't know any more."  
Sherlock smiled, and then said, "You are. You're awake."  
Then, catching John unaware, Sherlock came inside and, well, hugged him. And John could feel it, he was real, it was actually Sherlock. The shock was too much for him to be responsive, but then Sherlock stepped back and looked over his friend, a smile playing at his lips and relief shining in his eyes. "It took you long enough, you've been asleep for the past week. I wonder what you were doing in you're head all that time?"  
A week? That long? Well, it somewhat told him why he had the time for an entire adventure inside his own head. John glanced briefly back to his bed and noticed that on the night stand was 'The Hobbit', he had probably been reading it before he fell asleep, which explained a lot. John tried to reply in a carefree way, not allowing himself the delusion that Sherlock was back quite yet, but there was still a catch in his throat when he responded, "Yeah, and you were dead for three years. It's hard to be patient, isn't it?"  
It was Sherlock's response that killed him. It wasn't a snide remark, it wasn't some passing comment, Sherlock just stared into his eyes, looking, scanning and said, with complete sincerity, "John, I'm sorry."  
Then came the tears. He hated it, hated showing Sherlock this dumb, crappy, emotional side of himself, but still they came. Slowly at first, but then it quickly became sobbing...sobbing over the past three years, letting out all that he had bottled up and hid away for so long, and with relief, so much relief, because, above all odds, that one miracle had happened. His best friend was alive, he was here. When he looked up, he found himself staring right at Sherlock again, and noticed the tear stains on Sherlock's coat. He must have cried on him, but he didn't remember. He then stared Sherlock down, swung his fist and probably ended up breaking his friend's nose, and then, as Sherlock was slightly reeling from the hit he had taken, with all the built up emotion from three years, John said in a most intimidating tone "Don't you ever, ever, leave me again, you absolute bastard."  
Sherlock then looked up, ignoring the pain in his face, and faced John. John was uncertain as to what Sherlock was going to do, but he certainly didn't ever expect what was coming. Sherlock stepped forward, put his right hand on John's face, and gave him the smallest kiss, the ever so slight brushing of lips and whispered 'I won't.'. That was the best promise that John could have ever hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, me and my need to have a bit of fluff. Yeah, seriously, I wrote this really quickly and just for fun. Sherlock is really OOC, sorry.


End file.
